The Seven Seals of Egypt (Matt Drake Book 17)

by David Leadbeater

  Drake jumped into night-time Cairo. A general hubbub filled the air, shouts and catcalls punctuating the background noise. The air smelled of rotting rubbish laced with spice and other things Drake couldn’t identify—a complex smorgasbord of odors.

  They started walking swiftly, Smyth checking back to work out the progress of the following mercs. Each building here was built almost atop the next, with an ancient, sculpted church sitting alongside a new wooden-fronted, gray-blocked structure with no visible gap in between. The road twisted and turned, passing cafes and carpet and jewelry shops. Hayden took point, with Kinimaka and Crouch just a step behind. The ambient light was minimal, enshrouding narrow passages, sunken shopfronts and anything that might be trespassing there.

  Smyth caught up. “Best pick up the pace. They’re right behind us.”

  The dull drone of queuing motor cars and the high-pitched squeak of scooters came from the right. A deeper quiet came from the left. Hayden used her cellphone’s GPS to follow a winding path to the busy street, hoping it would help them disappear.

  Drake dropped back, making sure Smyth was not alone at the rear of the group.

  Mai went with him. The mercs were visible now, jogging and waving their guns carelessly. One of them spotted Drake and gave a shout.

  Instantly, he ducked aside. A shot rang out, passing between Mai and him. Smyth ducked into the shadows and quickly climbed a rickety ladder onto a balcony, then crouched down to wait. Drake slunk back, seeking half-light. Mai leapt atop a nearby stall, hoping it would hold for at least a minute.

  “Saw them,” a man shouted. “Swear down I did.”

  Five men appeared, walking carefully now; the other three in their party probably taking an alternative route. Drake waited for Smyth to make his move.

  A warm wind drifted up the passageway between buildings, stirring litter and making eddies in the piles of sand. Smyth leapt into their midst just as it died away.

  Landing feet first, his right elbow slammed down onto a merc’s neck with crushing force. The man collapsed instantly. Smyth kicked out at the next, keeping his balance. A gun flew through the air. Mai dived off the unsteady stall, losing a perfect target because the shaky supports collapsed just as she leapt. Still, she adjusted and came down in front of her adversary, taking him out with two blows. A merc spun quickly, bringing his elbows up to block her next attack, then pushed her away. Mai lost her footing on the uneven ground, went down to one knee. The merc, if he’d pressed ahead with his attack might have won, but the focus of his thoughts centered only on his weapon.

  Lifting the gun took several seconds.

  Mai balanced her weight on one hand and kicked out with both legs, taking him at the shins and watching him crash to the floor. His gun hit concrete and then she was upon him, a flashing blur in the dim, golden glow of the single light.

  Drake slunk out and came up behind the lead merc just as the man turned and took aim upon an embattled Smyth. The soldier’s back was turned; he would never have known. Drake snapped the man’s wrist without mercy and caught the gun before it fell to the floor.

  “You were once a soldier,” the Yorkshireman whispered. “What happened?”

  He didn’t wait for answer, smashing the man about the temples and seeing him stagger away. Two mercs were down, motionless, the other three struggling and bleeding.

  Drake waved at his colleagues. “C’mon, folks. Show mercy to these wankers. Maybe it’ll persuade them to get another job.”

  They melted away quickly, all three conscious that it would take a while to catch up. Mai slipped out her own cellphone and they ran hard, following the path they thought Hayden would have taken.

  Drake stayed on the lookout for the three rogue mercs as well as the ones they’d spared, knowing in his blood that men like that were far from being able to learn new lessons. Already, he knew, they’d be back in the chase.

  Smyth kept an eye to the rear, Mai to the front. Drake called Alicia.

  “Where are you?”

  She explained. Drake guessed they were just a few minutes apart.

  “Three to five unaccounted for,” he said. “Possibly tracking you.”

  “Understood.”

  They ended the call, both focused fully on their colleagues and surroundings. Drake, Mai and Smyth ran across a busy road, weaving between cars and around people, darting back into the shadows on the other side. They were only eight minutes from their safe house now but couldn’t afford to lead the mercs there.

  “I see Yorgi and Kenzie,” Mai said. “Up ahead.”

  Drake squinted, barely able to make them out, and was reminded briefly of Dahl’s comment about needing glasses. Were his eyes failing or was it the dull light?

  Just ignore the mad bastard.

  That usually worked. Drake checked around once more, seeing nothing untoward. Bit by bit, they caught up to the rest of the team who were moving at half pace.

  Hayden looked back. “All good?”

  “Yeah. Two taken out. Rest probably still coming.”

  “We’ve seen no sign of enemies,” Kinimaka said.

  “They’re here though,” Kenzie said. “Close by.”

  Alicia stopped. “How can you—”

  They came from the side street, three at first and then the ragtag remnants of the earlier tussle. Alicia, Kinimaka and Hayden saw them coming and immediately jumped in to prevent any gun-play. Drake, Mai and Alicia ranged around as the rest of the team engaged.

  A shot rang out, the barrel of the gun forced toward the ground, the bullet striking and glancing away. Dahl kicked the offender hard in the face, sending him smashing back into a brick wall. Kenzie jumped in feet-first, pushing another man into a wooden structure, watching as the timbers fell all around and buried him. With a wry grin she picked up the sharpest spar of wood.

  Then spotted a lone gunman, hovering at the back of the mercs. She used another’s back to leap into action, and brought the spar down upon the man’s face. He raised an arm to block the blow and the gun went off, the bullet shooting high into the night. Kenzie swung twice more, drawing blood and forcing the man down.

  Behind, in the general melee, the rest of the team were taking on opponents. Drake used his environment; throwing a merc against a low balcony and then watching him fall into a narrow opening, unconscious. The next he brought down a line of washing upon, tangling and blinding the man. A few well-placed punches left him wrapped in a heap, groaning. Drake stood aside as another leapt in, then watched him trip headlong over the wrapped-up bundle on the floor. Another gun went skidding from another hand, rattling across the concrete and ending up at the base of a wall. Drake picked it up not just for protection but to prevent some civilian stumbling across it tomorrow.

  Mercs swung wildly. Dahl climbed a balcony to leap from, came down like a mountain on two mercs, and rendered them unconscious. Kenzie found herself on a similar balcony, a merc having followed her up there; then prodded him with the spar. The man caught it, wrenched it away but unbalanced and fell, arm pin wheeling, onto the concrete below. Kenzie dropped in his wake and saw blood seeping from the back of his head.

  She scooped the spar up, jabbed at another enemy.

  Alicia punched hard and evaded, finding she’d run out of enemies after just a few minutes. Casting around, it seemed a little rude to just barge in on Hayden’s brawl, but with a loud cough and a little wave she caught the merc’s attention and brought him over to her side. Eight seconds later he was down.

  “You’re welcome,” she told Hayden.

  “I had that.”

  “I know, but Hay, you haven’t been shot in a while. Thought I’d take that chance right off the table.”

  The mercs fought doggedly, handing out bruises and bleeding mouths but failing to stop the SPEAR team for more than a few minutes. When they were groaning, lying practically motionless, their leader dead, Hayden signaled a final sprint for the safe house.

  “We all good?”

  Crouch and Y
orgi came back from the shadows. The pair had never pretended to be fighters, but had taken weapons to use in case they were needed, a plan so well executed the mercs never even knew about the spare backup. Crouch took point now and led them through darker streets, and the team used Smyth and Kenzie to check for any signs of pursuit.

  There were none. But there was something else. A brooding darkness lying over the less traveled streets of Cairo, a menace unseen but heavily present. Something that offered violence and fire and the chance of turmoil. Drake had felt it before many times—close to war zones and inside cities fighting for their lives. At border crossings that might be subject to attack. The Middle East was a roiling cauldron of ferocity, madness and religious hatred. Is anywhere safe?

  Drake and Alicia checked the side alleys. Mai took a quick sprint across the rooftops.

  “Clear.”

  Together, they headed to safety.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  FrameHub were both pleased and dubious. Their army of mercenaries had secured the first clue set right at the back of the first seal, but had come across a problem larger than they had anticipated. FrameHub weren’t entirely sure how to process the information, or how best to react.

  They were IT gods, not military captains.

  The man on the conference call was the leader of the mercs. He called himself Vladimir and spoke with a Russian accent.

  “It is an American Special Forces unit called Team SPEAR. They’re off the books, specialists in everything you could name and many things you couldn’t. Taken down some of the world’s worst.”

  “It sounds like you admire them,” Piranha said.

  “They’re soldiers, and pretend to be nothing else. One time—we were all like that. At least, most of us were. They took out enough of my men to force me to recruit even more.” Vladimir sighed.

  “The timetable must not be compromised,” Barracuda said in a robotic computer-generated voice.

  “It won’t be. You employed me because I have good connections and get the job done when and how you specify, not for my shocking good looks and bowling arm.”

  “Ahh, okay.” Barracuda’s uncertainty made the mechanical voice absurd.

  “What do you know of this . . . SPEAR?” Piranha tried to cover for him.

  “Too much to retell,” Vladimir said. “There’s about ten of them, I guess. Mix of nationalities. Here’s the interesting thing—the American government recently disavowed them. These guys’re acting on their own.”

  Piranha was confused and didn’t try to hide it this time. “What are you saying?”

  “It is too early to know but I do believe they’re acting on their own. That puts them in our territory and easier to kill. No backup, limited tech. All this helps. Also, if the American’s have disavowed SPEAR they will have someone hunting them down, but I haven’t found any details yet. Perhaps you guys could help?”

  Piranha weighed and judged the request instantly. “We can find that information, but how will it help?”

  “It will tell me the worst of what we’re up against.”

  “Okay, I understand. I’ll have the information within the hour.”

  “Within the . . .” Vladimir sounded shocked and doubtful. “Something like that will be deeply classified. It’s hidden behind so many—”

  “Please,” Piranha murmured. “I said an hour because we have a retro office Galaga challenge planned. That will take forty-five minutes.”

  Vladimir remained silent.

  “Did you find out why this team were disavowed?” Manta asked. “That could help.”

  “Couldn’t say. Usually though, these things have little to do with a team’s actions and much to do with political maneuvering. I doubt the real reason will be on file.”

  “It’s fine,” Piranha said. “Please concentrate on the tombs and the seven seals. This knowledge is vital to our future and thus to yours. We can make you rich, Mr. Vladimir. Just work with us to find that seventh seal. That is your sole and only goal right now.”

  “Understood. The seals are crucial. They’re also front and center on many men’s radars right now. What are you boys gonna do about that?”

  Piranha smiled at the screen. “Something huge. You will hear about it, be assured.”

  Manta snorted. “A Tibetan monk will hear of it.”

  Moray glanced at him. “They have Wi-Fi in Tibet, idiot.”

  “Yeah, I know that. It was a figure of speech, asshat.”

  “Right,” Vladimir cut in. “I’ll let you boys get on with it. Keep me updated.”

  “We’re not boys,” Piranha said. “Well, not all of us. Rest assured we have a method to distract the entire world from the seven seals of Egypt.”

  “You said that already. I’ll be watching and listening.”

  “Good,” Piranha said, unable to come up with anything witty. They needed Vladimir though—somebody out there in the real world dealing with real-world problems and situations. None of them had seen sunlight for months. They were too busy following their mandate: Knowledge is power. Down here they could accumulate vast amounts on everyone and anything, but if the curse of the seven seals was right and led to an incredible doomsday weapon . . .

  FrameHub thought that was ultra-cool.

  Vladimir signed off. Piranha shook his head at the entire group and called for FrameHub to reorder. It was bordering on an extremely momentous time.

  “Tell me, FrameHub, are we ready?”

  “We are ready,” the collective agreed.

  “Shall we make them fear us?”

  “We shall.”

  “Shall we make them cower?”

  “We will.”

  “Press that start button then,” Piranha said. “It’s game on.”

  Piranha arranged his thoughts. With the first seal broken and the clue discovered, the mercs would handle the second seal. Some kind of abandoned tomb according to Vladimir. FrameHub had been formulating a plan for some time now, a game plan, to bring three nations to their knees, and then two of them to collapse. It was a test and a warning, something to make the rest of the world sit up and beg.

  Literally.

  They were connected worldwide through the computer network. And not just to the Internet but every single thing on earth that required any kind of mainframe or processor. The best hackers of their time had become a divine and superhuman collective, and the world was about to find out what they could do.

  Piranha watched proceedings. In their real-life war game three countries would be threatened, all by email message. The first to capitulate to their demands would win, the other two would be destroyed. It was pure gaming rules.

  “We expect them to ignore the first demand,” Piranha said. “So prepare the second. We need to be taken seriously.”

  A desire he’d felt his whole life.

  FrameHub had researched carefully and identified the right agency, the right branch of that agency and even the correct person to send the threat to. It would be registered, so that when the second was received the level would be escalated. There was a procedure to go through and because FrameHub needed the time and the lengthy distraction they would happily adhere to and not force it.

  Their rules. Their game.

  Piranha ran it through his head. “The governments of Egypt, Turkey and Greece have twenty four hours to meet our demands, those being the delivery of three hundred million dollars to an account of our choosing. Failure to meet these demands will result in a catastrophic failure of your entire infrastructure, sending you back to the Dark Ages. You will face famine, disease, war and utter bankruptcy. Only one country will be allowed to meet these demands—the very first to do so. The other two will crumble. Do we—FrameHub—have your attention? Good, you have our demands. Take them seriously or perish.”

  It would be analyzed, traced, taken apart. It would be subject to a deep data dive, an Interpol investigation—all kinds of scrutiny. It would do them no good. FrameHub had inserted several clever rerout
es into the transmission that would force the authorities’ tech guys to attest to their genius and sincerity.

  The rest would no doubt rely on the second demand, where a demonstration would be in order. Good. Really, I can’t wait. Piranha had never set off a real live missile. The difference between game theory and real life would be interesting to see.

  “Message sent,” Orca said.

  Piranha grinned at the collective, unable to hide his glee. “Just twenty four hours,” he said excitedly. “And we get to do this shit for real!”

  A cheer echoed around the underground bunker.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Hayden Jaye finished her call and threw the cell on the table. The room was cramped. To the left Kinimaka twitched at the gap in the curtains, checking out the street below. Every three minutes he gave a shake of his head, signaling all was quiet. Drake and the rest of the team sat or stood around the small area, drinking water and coffee, checking and cleaning weapons which they would now keep with them at all times.

  “That was Claudia from the DC office. Old friend. She says Lauren arrived safely.”

  The team immediately took note, sitting up and focusing.

  “What else did she say?” Smyth asked, his voice thick with anxiety.

  “Not much. Lauren’s being questioned right now. The buzz is that she’s in the clear, but they’re taking no chances.”

  “As we thought,” Kinimaka rumbled. “Everyone involved covering their ass.”

  “Yeah. Lauren played it just right though. Another few days and she can get started.”

  Smyth coughed. “Maybe.”